My Sister Is Missing
CARISSA ANN LYNCH

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © Carissa Ann Lynch 2019

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com

Carissa Ann Lynch asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © March 2019 ISBN: 9780008324483

Version: 2020-01-23

To my children

Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.

Stephen King

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

That old saying, you can never go home again, tickled the edges of my memory and floated on the back of my tongue as I accelerated through the Bare Border welcome sign in my rented Honda Civic. The car was supposed to be the ‘luxury option’. Stupid me – I’d actually expected something fancy, like a Rolls Royce. The Honda wasn’t bad looking, but as soon as it hit 45 mph, the doors had begun to rattle and shake, the wheels threatening to tumble loose, and the peppery must of cigarette smoke from the previous driver was making my temples ache. In truth, I longed for a cigarette myself, but the last time I’d smoked was, well … it was the last time I came back home.

Nine years ago, I’d come to Bare Border for my sister’s wedding, but even then, I’d only stayed for the ceremony and reception. I didn’t visit with family. I didn’t stay overnight. I’d shared the champagne toast, made a clumsy congratulations speech, then ducked out before the clock struck midnight, Cinderella-style.

I didn’t want to stay in Bare Border then, and I don’t want to be here now.

But Madeline had asked me to come; not just for a visit, but to ‘stay for a while’, however long ‘a while’ meant. She wanted to talk to me about something, but not over the phone. My big sister had never been the mysterious type; in fact, she was pretty terrible at keeping secrets, or at least the old version of her used to be, the one I remembered from my childhood.

What do I really know about her now, besides the fact that’s she a mother, and happily married?

I don’t know what I was expecting when I passed through the entrance to my hometown – storm clouds and thunder? An ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach? The theme song to Stranger Things prickling my subconscious? What I found instead was a scene from a movie script, but not the creepy, menacing variety. The afternoon sky was a silk-screen blue, the sidewalk teeming with children on bikes, and tiny mazes of houses puckered out between the only buildings in town—Maggie’s Mart, the elementary school, the library, the post office, and a couple of fast food joints. It looked downright charming and quaint.

As I passed through the town square, I spied the bingo hall that also functioned as a church, creeping up ahead on my left – where my sister was married. From this vantage point, everything about my hometown looked the same as it always had, how I remembered it…

Maybe you can go home again, an annoying voice tickled my ear.

I think the expression means that you can go home, but it will never be the home you remember. Nothing is static; everything looks different through a child’s eyes. But in my twenty-nine-year-old periphery—nothing about Bare Border had changed.

But, then again, this was as far as I’d been in just under a decade.

Rundown storefronts and residential houses faded away as I navigated up the steepest hill I’d ever climbed in my life. Even though it had been a long time, I knew I had to speed up, or else risk rolling backwards.

I punched the pedal to the floor, revving the engine up the twisty incline, instantly shifting around the once familiar curves from my past. The Honda rattled dangerously as I gripped the wheel with both hands.

It’s not until I reached the top of ‘Star Mountain’, as the locals called it, that I realized I’d been holding my breath. I hadn’t tackled this hill since I was twenty years old, and when you’re twenty, nothing seems scary. But now it wasn’t the climb itself that gave me a jolt, but the drop off on either side of it. There was nowhere to go but down, down, down if you fell … and what’s at the bottom? I wondered. I’d never really cared to ask when I was a teen.

Thankfully, the road flattened out again, and right away, I was back on autopilot, taking a right on Painter’s Creek Road and then a sharp left on Knobby Pine. There were no more children on bikes, the old farm roads abandoned. Population: nobody cares. There were just too few to count, although that number had probably grown since I’d last come back.

A thousand times I’d made these turns—making the drive back and forth from my first job at Maggie’s Mart, driving myself to junior prom after Paul Templeton had stood me up, and my first wreck, when I’d T-boned Mrs Roselle. For the record, the accident wasn’t my fault – that woman always ran the stop sign on Lowell’s Lane, which intersected with Painter’s Creek Road.

My sister’s house, and the place where I grew up, was right up ahead, exactly where I left it all those years ago…

The trees opened up and there it was: the crooked old sign for the ‘Bare Border Inn’. It whistled back and forth in the wind as I turned down my sister’s driveway. The ‘inn’ was nothing more than a two-story, eight-room house that my grandparents used to run as a bed and breakfast back in the Fifties. To me, it had always just been our house, but my mom and dad had never taken down the sign.

This place has character. History. You can’t get rid of that, my mother had told me.

The bubbly vibrations of gravel beneath my tires welcomed me home for the first time in years.

I’d ripped and roared through town, but now all I wanted to do was slow down. I wasn’t ready for this reunion – the one between my sister and I or the one with my own childhood. Going back was like returning to the scene of a crime when you were guilty: it wasn’t advisable.

But I’m not a criminal. I have nothing to run from, right?

The house itself loomed like a ghoulish shadow, a black silhouette against a backdrop of crisp summer sun. Only, the sun was fading now, a gloomy dull film settling over the rickety inn…

The driveway was longer than I remembered, and the further I got down it, the foggier the air around the Civic became.

The inn was set back from the road in a clearing, thick woods surrounding it on two sides. Almost like an appendage, like it was a part of the woods, not the other way around. I could sense movement beyond the trees … barefoot children scurrying through the branches, keeping beat with the sluggish pace of the rental car.

These were the children of summer. Bees zipping, bird wings flapping, the rolling water of the creek – all part of their never-ending summer soundtrack. In reality, there wasn’t anyone moving through the trees, only ghosts of the children my sister and I once were. The sticky taste of cherry Kool-Aid still clung to my upper lip, mixed with the sweat and dirt from running in that muggy, marshy forest…

There was a pang in my chest – the concept of family was something I hadn’t thought about in a long time. There are crevices inside me, yearning to be filled, I thought, and then I shuddered at the memories and laughed at my own silly thoughts.

Off to my right was a flat field, and in the distance, despite the fog, I could just make out the shape of the Tennors’ cottage, and beyond that, Goins Farm. I looked left and right, from the woods and back to the field, and now I had no other choice but to face the giant looming before me. Here it was—home. For such a simple, monosyllabic word, it contained so much meaning. So much memory.

I wish I could say that the house looked different, older like the sign. I half-expected it to look more modern, new paint or shingles, at least. But the two-story inn looked just the same. Pale blue shutters, faded windows, blood-red flowers, and overgrown plants licking up the sides of it. In the low-setting fog, it was almost like a house from a storybook. Memories. It held almost all of mine, and so many of those weren’t good…

A chill ran up my spine as I parked the Civic next to, what I could only guess, was my sister’s khaki-colored Jeep. After putting the car in gear, I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Am I ready for whatever it is my sister has to say?

Who was I kidding? I already knew why she asked me here; the only real question was: why now?

She was pissed off at me, for not coming home for our father’s funeral, but that was nearly a year ago. If she was going to say something, why didn’t she say it then?

Although we had been estranged—besides the wedding nine years ago—we still talked occasionally via text. Neither one of us had ever been fond of phone calls, but lately, even the texts had come fewer and farther between.

I know she’s sore at me about the funeral, but I thought she’d get over it after a while. Maybe that was it … maybe she called me here to ream me out and get it over and done with, I considered. You’re supposed to come home for funerals; you’re supposed to mourn people when they die. It’s just what you do, I could imagine my mother saying, if she were still alive. But on the days leading up to my father’s funeral, I couldn’t force myself to pack my things. I couldn’t force myself to pretend I wasn’t angry, to pretend that he was this upstanding man who didn’t break my mother’s heart…

‘Emily?’ I jerked at the sound of my sister’s voice. She was bent down next to the driver’s window, her own face inches from mine. Stunned back to reality, I rolled the window down.

She was already talking to me through the glass, her words warbled and low. ‘Wow. What were you thinking about, Em? That was one hell of a daze you were just in.’

I could make up some sort of stupid lie, but I won’t. This was my sister – sisters don’t lie to each other, even if they’re not as close as they once were.

‘I’m sorry. It’s creepy being back here, to tell ya the truth. I’m excited to see you, but also worried about what this thing is you want to talk to me about. Before you say anything, I – I should have been here for you, for dad … the funeral…’ As the words tumbled out, they were strangled, like I was trying to say them from under water.

But before I could utter one more misshapen word, Madeline yanked the car door open and scooped me into a hug. I was surprised to find myself shaking with relief, my eyes brimming with tears I didn’t know I had. I hadn’t seen my sister in so long, yet her arms were warm and soothing, the way a real home should feel. I’d missed her so much.

Promise me, her voice whispered through the trees. Promise me we’ll be more than sisters. It was another memory, but one I hadn’t remembered until now: Madeline using mom’s kitchen shears to draw blood from both of our fingers. Summer sisters, she had called us.

‘I’m not mad at you about the funeral, Em. I’m really not.’

‘You’re not?’ We were still holding onto each other, and I whispered the words into her hair, relief flushing over me. Her sandy blonde hair still smelled like that stupid coconut cream shampoo she’d been using since we were teens. She nearly broke my finger once, yanking that prized bottle of shampoo from my hands as I teasingly threatened to pour it down the drain after she made fun of me about a boy.

‘I’m not mad, I swear.’ Madeline stood up from where she was crouched beside me. She dusted her hands off on her jeans and then worked tangles out of her hair with her fingers.

Her hair was still wavy and unkempt, just the way I remembered, but her face was creased with age. There were tiny little crinkles around her mouth, and even the lines around her eyes had deepened. For the first time, I realized how much she resembled our mother.

‘I knew you probably wouldn’t go to the funeral, anyway. Things with dad and you, and dad and me … well, we aren’t all the same. I can’t blame you for handling your grief in your own way. I was a little miffed at first, I admit, but that’s not why I asked you here.’

Gathering my purse and keys from the passenger seat, I wiped my eyes and stepped out of the car. I stood there, gripping my purse like a shield, waiting for her to explain. When she didn’t, I said, ‘Okay, can we cut the suspense now? Why did you ask me to come?’

‘All in good time, little sister. The kids are inside waiting to meet their Aunty Emily they’ve heard so much about … so c’mon! I can’t wait for you to see the inside of the place. I know the outside looks the same, but I’ve replaced all of the furniture, obviously. Well, just wait, you’ll see.’

My duffel bag was still wedged inside the trunk, but I chose to ignore it for now.

Now that I was here, standing in front of the old place, and I knew Madeline wasn’t angry, I was eager to go inside and check it out.

There was a manic bounce in my sister’s step as she led me toward the house, and I couldn’t help noticing that she was thicker now, her hips wider since giving birth to my niece and nephew. I sort of liked this filled-out version of her. She looked glowing and healthy, like Mom when she was in her thirties.

‘You look really good. I can’t believe how long it’s been since I saw you. Everything about you is still the same.’ My sister looked back at me from over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. She pointed at her soft belly. She was wearing loose-fitting mom jeans and a Green Day T-shirt that I was pretty sure used to be mine. I couldn’t help but smile.

‘I don’t look great, you don’t have to lie to me.’

Before I could argue, she pushed the front door open.

The first thing that hit me when she opened the door was the smell. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t flowery either. In fact, it reeked of sweet, dusty old fruit—until now, I hadn’t realized that my childhood had a smell, but it did. The past came rushing back to me … Madi and I, racing through the front door as kids, shoving each other down the driveway to get there first. Madi in her overalls, one long strap swinging wildly behind her. And then, when she was older, she wore low-slung jeans and cropped T-shirts. I always admired her style, and the way she could outrun me every time…

As I stepped in behind her, it took me a minute to clear the fog of confusion.

What used to be the front living room was now some sort of office-playroom. The only thing that seemed the same was the heart pine flooring. I stared at the entryway beneath my feet; it was covered by a fuzzy, polka dotted rug, but I knew without thinking that if I peeled it back, I would find a horseshoe-shaped groove below it, from the time dad tried to lug that steel safe over the threshold. Mom damn near killed him for buying it.

The right half of the living room was a chaotic scene of toys: a rocking horse, a chalkboard on wheels, and buckets of Legos and dolls. But on the left side of the room was a neat yellow desk with, what I guessed, was my sister’s computer and stack of work papers.

‘Just ignore this room. It’s a mess. I’ve given up on trying to sort those toys. Follow me. The kids are in the kitchen.’

Suddenly, it seemed so quiet I was overcome with a strange sensation – the air in the room was too thick, like there was some sort of tension swirling around us. I couldn’t help feeling like I’d walked into some sort of tomb.

‘They’re being awfully quiet,’ I remarked, trailing my sister as she led me through the familiar arch from the living room to the dining room, and then onto the kitchen.

I am the worst aunt in the universe. Ben was eight and Shelley was three, and I’d never laid eyes on them. Not really. Sure, I’d liked their pictures on Madeline’s Facebook and Instagram accounts, but that didn’t really count for much, did it? We had planned nearly a dozen meet-ups over the years, but I’d always used my work as an excuse not to come. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to meet my niece and nephew … I just didn’t want to come to Bare Border to see them. Madi had never shown any anger about my absence from their lives, but I suspected that my failure to be a decent aunt, and not showing up for my father’s funeral, were the reasons for her becoming more distant with me over the phone lately.

‘Here they are!’ My sister was standing in the middle of the kitchen with her arms spread wide, and all I could think was: This is where my mother should be standing.

An image of my mother in her stained cooking apron, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for her famous lasagna to finish baking in the oven, sprung up from my memories.

‘Where are the kids?’ I brought myself back into focus.

There was no one in the kitchen, besides my sister and me.

I walked around the empty space, taking my time. The wood cabinets were still painted white, just like mom used to keep them, but these were newer, not the same … yes, there were shiny new handles on the cabinet doors. I opened one of the drawers and closed it back. I could feel my sister watching me.

The sink had also been replaced by one of those modern vessels I’d only seen on TV. Tenderly, I ran my hands over the navy-blue countertops, my nose recognizing the green dish soap mom used to use. What was it called … Palmolive?

‘Are they hiding?’ I glanced back at my sister.

I was surprised to see that her expression had changed. Her lips were curled down, her eyes hard and serious, like two little black beads. Her initial excitement to see me had morphed into a mask I knew too well … she was worried about something.

‘I don’t have any children. I made all that up. The pictures, the stories…everything was a lie.’

‘Huh?’ I tilted my head to the side, waiting for the punchline.

But she still looked strange, her eyes floaty and her voice flat. Is my sister capable of telling such a massive lie? It’s not like I would know the difference—after all, I’ve never actually seen Shelley or Ben in person… My heart was thumping in my chest as I waited for Madi to explain.

‘Ahhh!’ I jumped back in surprise as the cabinet doors beneath the sink sprung open with a sharp bang. One at a time, two small children popped out and ran straight for me. I chuckled at my niece and nephew, surprised.

Behind me, Madeline was cackling now, just like she used to when she drank too much Seagram’s when we were teens. After all these years, I’d almost forgotten how much she loved to play pranks.

‘I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor,’ I said, rolling my eyes, and then I mouthed the word, bitch, over my shoulder, so only she could see it.

I knelt, taking both children in my arms.

The smaller of the two, my niece Shelley, lifted her feet in the air as she hung on my left arm. Ben was excited to meet me too and wrapped both arms around me. With the weight of them both, I had to steady myself.

‘So, you must be Shelley and Ben. I’m excited to finally meet you guys. I’m your Aunt Emily.’

‘We know that already, silly woman,’ said Ben. He let go of me, pacing back and forth next to little Shelley, while making a high-pitched squeal that set my teeth on edge.

His strange squealing didn’t surprise me much – Madeline had told me that he struggled with hyperactivity, and recently, a doctor had told her that he might be on the autism spectrum.

Shelley was more subdued, and keen to stay in my arms. I stood back up on my feet, lifting the tiny girl onto my right hip, then shifting her to my left in an awkward pose. I was surprised at how heavy she felt. I’d held a baby once or twice, but I’d never held up a toddler with one arm like this. Again, I felt my eyes welling up, as I stared into the face of my sweet little niece. She had my sister’s pointy chin and big smile, but those eyes … those bright blue eyes matched mine. I swallowed down a lump in my throat, trying to hold the tears at bay. It felt so good meeting these children – these extensions of my sister and I – for the first time. Suddenly, it seemed so ridiculous that I had waited this long to be in their lives.

‘And your imaginary husband … did you make him up, too? Where is John this lovely evening?’ I teased, glancing over at my sister.

Madeline’s bright red cheeks and toothy smile faded almost immediately. The worried look returned. I was half-expecting another stupid joke to follow, but when my sister pursed her lips and changed the subject, I knew something was wrong.

‘Let’s show Aunt Emily the bedrooms, shall we?’

Shelley and Ben wanted to show me their rooms first, of course. Overcome with nostalgia, I let Ben give me the tour of his bedroom, the same room where my sister had slept when we were kids. The Debbie Gibson posters and purple speckled paint were gone, replaced by neat brown and blue wallpaper, pictures of boats and trains on the borders.

‘Mom’s going to let me paint it soon. I don’t want these baby pictures no more. I want Five Nights at Freddy’s covering my walls.’ Ben raced back and forth in front of his TV set, running the tips of his fingers along the wall. There was a clear wear pattern in the carpet where I suspected he paced a lot.

‘Do you know the game Five Nights at Freddy’s? Want to play it with me?’ Ben asked, his words loud and strung together.

‘He’s obsessed with it,’ Shelley whispered, squeezing her tiny hand in mine.

Before I could answer Ben’s question, Madeline replied, ‘I’m sure Aunt Emily would love to, but not right now. We’re going to finish showing her around the house first.’ Ben made that high-pitched squeal again and saddled up to a laptop that set on his desk.

We left him there, already focused intently on his game, while we moved on with the tour.

Next was Shelley’s room. It was only one door down from Ben’s, but this room was smaller. This was the one I was most excited to see because Shelley’s room used to be mine.

Expecting to see a huge change in décor, I was shocked to see the same pink plaster, with tiny unicorn paintings on its surface. I’d painted those unicorns myself when I was only eleven years old.

‘You didn’t paint over them…’ I reached out to touch one of the unicorns. With its blue-black eyes and a long golden horn, it was sneering in a way that now almost seemed grotesque.

‘Of course not,’ my sister said.

‘I thought Mom would kill me when she saw what I’d done,’ I whispered, still running my fingertips over the bumpy paint.

‘Oh, I didn’t. I knew she’d love your little masterpiece,’ Madeline said, quietly. I didn’t have to see her face to know there was a trace of resentment there.

While she was always my father’s favorite, I was my mother’s baby. So, it was no surprise that when they split, we both took separate sides…

You let her get away with everything! I could still hear my sister’s startling screams echoing through the hallway. She loved me to death when we were kids, but our teenage years were strained.

The bedroom closet had white pocket doors that also looked the same. They were pushed halfway open, and without thinking, I reached for the handles, eager to see inside it.

‘I did paint over your stuff in the closet, though.’

My hands froze on the handles. ‘I’m glad,’ I mumbled as I turned away from the closet.

‘I love your bedrooms!’ I was trying to be one of those perky aunts, with overdone enthusiasm, like the ones you read about in wholesome novels, but in truth, this whole situation felt awkward and strange. I wasn’t used to being around kids, and even though I was thrilled to meet them, I couldn’t help feeling like an actress playing the part of ‘Aunty Em’. I should have come home when Ben was born, and then Shelley, and there were plenty of chances in between too – birthday parties, and the funeral – but I wasn’t ready to face this place, not yet, at least.

‘Shelley, why don’t you go play with Ben? Or take some of your dolls out of the trunk? Your aunt and I are going to have some coffee and a little chat. Please don’t fight with your brother. I would hate for Aunt Emily to see you guys get in trouble.’

Ben had drifted back into the hallway and he was clinging to Madeline’s leg. ‘Go on now, you two.’ She gently nudged them. They galloped toward Ben’s room, pushing and shoving one another in a race to see who could get there first. I smiled at them, overcome by my own memories of sibling rivalry.

Grateful to have a moment to speak alone with my sister, I followed her back down the hallway toward the kitchen. I hadn’t seen the rest of the house yet, and I was eager to see which bedroom Madeline had chosen for her and John, and which bedroom she’d put me up in for my stay.

‘The kids are beautiful. I wish I could have met them sooner,’ I said to her backside as she walked.

As soon as we were back in the kitchen, she set to work pulling out coffee mugs and plugging in her Keurig machine.

‘John left me for another woman.’ Her back was still to me when she blurted out these words, and I saw her hunch down in a defeated posture.

I took a seat at the table, flinching as the chair squealed loudly across the tile floors. I wasn’t sure what to say. I was shocked, to say the least.

Mournfully, I watched my big sister glide around the kitchen, taking a package of cookies down from the cabinet and choosing a coffee blend for both of us.

This was the thing about Madeline and me – we were comfortable in our silence together, even after all this time. I could tell her I was sorry and ask a million questions, but I knew she would tell me when she was ready.

After the cookies and coffee were on the table, she told me, in a hushed whisper, that John had been having an affair.

‘Did you know?’

Madeline shook her head. ‘I had no idea. He told me two Saturdays ago, out of the clear blue, that he was leaving me for his secretary. Her name is Starla. What kind of stupid name is that?’

‘Pretty freaking stupid,’ I agreed. ‘I’m so sorry. Have you filed for divorce?’

She took a sip of her coffee, and said, ‘Not yet, but I’m going to. I haven’t even told the kids. I covered for his sorry ass. Told them he was going on a business trip for a while. I thought maybe he would change his mind … but he hasn’t even called or come by once since his little crude announcement.’

‘He hasn’t even come around to call on the kids?’ I was shocked. I didn’t know John well. Sure, he’d seemed pleasant at the wedding, but that didn’t mean much. I tried to remember what I knew about him but it wasn’t much. He was essentially a stranger to me. Madeline rarely talked about him in her texts. There was one time she called me … what was it that he said in the background? I couldn’t remember. He’d been irritated about something, shouting about one of the kids. But she’d always given the impression that things were good between them.

Madeline shook her head in disgust. ‘He took a duffel bag of clothes and his bottle of cologne, and then told me he was staying at Starla’s for a while.’

What an asshole, I thought, clenching my teeth as I thought about those sweet little kids and my sister struggling to work and take care of both of them.

‘What can I do? Tell me how I can help.’ I took her hand in mine, my jaw still tight with anger.

‘Well, I could use your emotional support, for one. But most of all … the kids go back to school next week. I need more time – time to figure out what I’m going to do. Time to plan my next move. Also, I have to sell this house, Em. I can’t afford the utilities or the property taxes, not on my income.’

‘But the mortgage is already paid for.’

Madeline stuck up a hand to stop me. ‘I still can’t afford it. Well, I could if…’

‘If…?’ I pressed.

‘If I had a roommate. Or, I was thinking I could open it up again, like Grandma and Grandpa used to do…’

My heart filled with dread as I realized what she was asking.

‘I can’t move back here. I can’t. There are too many bad memories here, Madi, you know that…’

‘But there are good memories, too, aren’t there?’

I nodded slightly, unsure if there really were…

My sister’s eyes were filmy again. She was staring at an old-fashioned cat clock on the wall. Following her gaze, I suddenly realized that it was the same one that had always hung there. You can never go home again – those words pinged around my head like ping pong balls, but I quickly shook them off.

‘I can stay for a while. I’ll need an internet connection for work.’

‘Already have one,’ my sister gushed. Her face was red and cheery again, like a heavy load had just been lifted from her shoulders. I didn’t want to get her hopes up too much – I couldn’t stay that long.

‘Thank you, Em. I knew I could count on you.’ My sister threw her arms around me for the second time today, nearly knocking over the coffee between us in the process.

I rested my chin on her shoulder, staring out the kitchen window behind her. The sun shone brightly again, and through the trees, I could see a sparkle of water glistening between them. Those woods held nothing but horror for me, memories of the time I got hurt out there circling back for the first time in years…

Even though I was sitting here now, doing the right thing, I wanted to grab my own duffel bag and run from this place.

Maybe the saying means you can go home, you just shouldn’t.

CHAPTER TWO

The night trickled into the early morning hours, my sister and I chatting on the couch in the den. We chatted for hours after the kids went to bed, about John, about my lackluster love life. My sister asked me questions about work and college. Has your life turned out the way you thought it would?

It was strange how even after all this time, and distance, things between us felt the same. My sister was the only person who could pluck a thought, just like that, from my brain. The night had taken on a dreamlike quality, the wine she kept pouring making me fuzzy and strange.

By the time I stumbled back out to the car to retrieve my bag, I was overcome with sleepiness. The long drive to Bare Border and the hours of catching up had gone straight to my head. A rush of wind ripped through the trees surrounding the property, creating a thousand tiny whispers in the night air…

Like a timid child, I yanked my bag out of the trunk and ran back inside with my head tucked down to my chest.

Madeline was waiting for me in the doorway. She looked tired too, and she pointed down the east hallway as she rubbed sleep from her eyes.

‘I put you up in the guest room. The Mello Yellow Room.’

I nearly choked when she said that – either from tears or laughter, I didn’t know. I’d forgotten we called it that because it was so yellow, like our favorite citrusy drink when we were kids. Mom had painted the room herself, and she’d chosen this god-awful mustard-colored paint that gave the room its name today.

Well, it’s my sewing room. So, it doesn’t matter if you girls like it or not, my mother had huffed. She would sit back there for hours some days, her posture perfect and stiff as the machine whirred and droned out its own methodical beat.

There was a pang in my chest as I dragged my bulky bag down the dark hallway, which was on the other side of the house as Madeline and the kids.

With the kids asleep and my talk with Madeline over, the house resumed its crypt-like silence. The door to the old sewing room creaked open and I felt around for a light switch.

When the lights popped on, I gasped. Mello-Yellow was no more; the walls had been repainted a soft petal pink.

As I tossed my heavy bag on the full-sized bed in the middle of the room, my chest thickened with fury. How could you, Madeline?

The room was mostly bare. It was obvious that it was rarely used anymore.

Besides the bed, there were a small heart-shaped nightstand and a stout chest of drawers in the corner. I walked around the room, eyeing the pale pink walls.

My mother had painted this room yellow. With her own hands.

Now she was dead, and her hands would never create, paint, cook, sew, or hold me again.

And you just had to paint over it, didn’t you, Madi?

It had been a long time since I’d felt this sort of anger toward my sister. I’d nearly forgotten how easy it was to dislike her sometimes…

It was now, in this moment, that I realized I’d never gotten over the fact that it was her and Dad on one side, and Mom and I on the other. After twenty-five years of marriage, Mom had found out he was cheating. Instead of kicking my father out of the house that they had raised their children in, she had packed up her own belongings and left town. Madeline and I were adults by then, but still – their divorce had shaken me to the core. I was furious with my father; I wouldn’t even speak to him for months. But my sister, on the other hand, shamelessly defended his actions.

He deserves to be happy. You know he’s never been happy with her, Emily! This is good for both of them, don’t you see that? My sister tried to reason with me, but she always made it sound like Dad was doing Mom a favor by cheating on her, or that Mom was somehow responsible for his misdeeds. She took his side and I took Mom’s. We drew our lines in the sand and tossed handfuls of nasty words across the middle…

But it turned out Mom didn’t need me to defend her because six months after moving into her own apartment, she suffered a massive heart attack. I would never say this to my sister, but I’m certain she died of a broken heart. Losing my father killed her – literally. And even though, deep down, I knew it was completely irrational, I blamed that man for her death. I blame him still.

Now he’s gone too, and there’s no one left to blame.

Is that why I stayed away so long … because of him? I wondered. There were always excuses – visiting Madi and the kids was that one thing on my to-do list that always got carried over to the next week, the next month, the next year. I didn’t want to see my father, but it wasn’t only him, it was the ghosts of my past – old friends, old boyfriends, and … the woods. I hated those damn woods.

Shuddering, I thought about my sister’s current situation with her own husband, John. He was cheating on her, just like Dad did to Mom.

Deep down, there was this niggly, nasty part of me that wanted to say, It’s your fault. You didn’t make him happy, Madeline. This is better for everyone; don’t you see that? Give her a taste of her own medicine.

But those sorts of vicious thoughts made me instantly feel ashamed. I wanted my sister to be happy, and despite what happened with Mom and Dad, she didn’t deserve to be treated that way by her husband.

I yanked the duvet off the bed and crawled beneath the sheets. My new silk pajamas were folded away in my bag, and I casually considered getting back up to slide them on, but then my thoughts were still muddled, my feelings toward my sister unclear…

Maybe Dad had painted over Mom’s walls. He lived here up until last year when he died, after all. But with my eyes closed, I could still see that pretty shade of pink. It was something Madi would choose.

Should I ask her about it tomorrow? Or am I just being petty and overly nostalgic about Mom? Before I could give it a second thought, there was a soft tap on the door.

I pulled the covers up to my chin, strangely afraid. ‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s your sister, silly.’

The door was unlocked, and a moment later, Madeline pushed it open a crack and looked in at me. ‘You got everything you need? What time do you want me to wake you up?’

My mind was still angry over the paint and mom, but I said, ‘I’m fine, and I’ll set my alarm myself.’

‘Thanks again for coming, Em. And thanks for staying a while. You have no idea how much this means to me.’

I nodded, still unable to meet her eyes. I wanted to cry about the paint on the walls. I wanted to cry over my mother’s death. Hell, maybe I wanted to cry about dad, too. I wanted to be left alone.

Mom doesn’t live in the layers of paint on the walls, Emily, I reminded myself. But this was exactly why I didn’t want to come home. When I was away, I could push it out of my mind. I could forget. But here, there’s no avoiding the past…

‘Goodnight,’ Madeline said, pulling the door back closed.

‘Madi? Wait. Why didn’t you just tell me over the phone? I don’t understand why it was such a big deal, why this thing with John was some sort of secret?’

My sister peered back in through the crack. Her mouth looked droopy and strained, her eyes getting that far off look in them again…

‘That’s not the only reason I asked you here. There’s more. But we’ll talk about that tomorrow.’

The door clicked shut. I listened to the soft tapping sounds of my sister’s footsteps moving down the hallway. What the hell does that mean? Why is she being so vague and mysterious?

I slipped back out of bed and flipped out the lights. Before getting back in, I tiptoed over to the window and peeked out through the blinds.

The backyard was dark, but I could see billowy shadows dancing in the distance – the trees in the forest never went to sleep.

They were always there, watching me, haunting me, even when I lived far away … those creepy woods were the one thing I hadn’t been able to forget. Sometimes, I still dreamed of falling, falling, falling…

I wonder if it senses me, if it knows I’ve come back home. Again, I scoffed at my own childish notions. Maybe my sister wasn’t the only one acting strangely. Being here was bringing out the worst in me already. Those slender crevices are splitting open—waiting to be filled with memories … memories I’ve lost forever.

What my sister didn’t know was that I had a secret too. Mine wasn’t as cryptic as hers, but it was equally important.

She’d been asking me to come back home for so long. And I’d never planned on actually coming, but there were events that had occurred over the last few weeks that made the timing just right for a trip back home.

I’d lost my job at the paper. I hadn’t told Madi yet, although she’d given me plenty of opportunities to bring it up earlier this evening. But I would. I’ll tell her tomorrow, I decided.

So, even though I could stay and help out with the kids for a while, I couldn’t help much with bills until I found a new job. There wasn’t much work to be had in this town, and even if I did find a job, I didn’t want to stay here long enough to need one anyway.

I crawled back into bed and pinched my eyes shut, desperate to sleep away the worries. I thought it would take hours to drift off, but my mind turned cloudy and wild, and within minutes, I was dreaming of the trees.

CHAPTER THREE

When I woke up, the house was shaking, the tat tat tat of heavy rain pounding the windows and rooftop like a gangster from a black-and-white mobster movie. Startled, I sat up straight in bed. Mom’s old sewing room drifted back into focus.

Coming back to Bare Border hadn’t been a dream after all. Too bad.

As though my movements were their own version of an alarm, someone rapped on the door.

‘I’m up, Madi,’ I grumbled.

‘It’s Ben.’ The door creaked open and one big brown eye peered in at me through the crack.

‘It’s storming. Can I get in bed with you?’

I was surprised but tried not to show it. I’d only met my nephew yesterday. ‘Yes, of course.’

I pushed the covers back and motioned for him to crawl in beside me. He bounded toward me like a Saint Bernard minus the slobber. He jumped up and down on the bed, to the count of eight, then wriggled like a worm beneath the blankets.

I wrapped an arm around him and sniffed his soft brown hair. It was too long, scruffy around his ears and hanging too low in his eyes, but it felt soft like feathers and it smelled like the same shampoo Madeline used.

Stealing a glance at my cell phone on the nightstand, I was surprised to see it was nearly eleven in the morning. Sleeping this late wasn’t all that unusual for me, but I was surprised Madeline wasn’t up making breakfast, or whatever motherly things she did on Saturday mornings.

‘Where’s your sister?’ I asked, stroking my fingers through his hair. He shied away from me now, skirting closer to the edge of the bed.

‘She’s been up for hours, too. She’s watching Teen Titans Go. I turned it on for her and poured her a cup of juice. I did spill some on the floor though…’

‘Where’s your mom?’

‘Where’s your mom?’ he repeated my words.

Madeline told me he liked to do this too – repeat words and phrases, and sometimes echo back what he’d just heard. I wasn’t sure if I should repeat my question or move on.

‘Okay, buddy. Let’s just get up. When I was your age, I liked to watch cartoons on Saturday. What is your favorite cartoon?’

‘I don’t watch cartoons. I play Five Nights at Freddy’s. Maybe they will turn it into a cartoon. Want to play it with me?’

I assured him that I would soon and listened as he described every level of the game while I pulled on cotton shorts and my favorite morning hoodie.

Ben told me more about the game as I padded down the hallway and made my way to the kitchen. Coffee. Why hasn’t Madi made coffee yet?

‘Is your mom sleeping in, too?’ I fiddled with the fifteen buttons on the coffee machine before I realized it wasn’t plugged in. Ben didn’t answer me, just stared up at the swooshing black tail on the cat clock, hypnotized. As I scavenged through the cupboard for coffee cups, my foot landed in a puddle of juice.

‘Okay,’ I said, flustered, switching my focus to finding paper towels.

After I cleaned up the spill, I made my way toward my sister’s room. On the way, I passed Shelley. She was sitting pretzel-style on the floor in her room. She was indeed watching Teen Titans Go and her lips were stained purple from the juice drink.

The door to my sister’s bedroom was closed.

‘Does Mommy normally sleep this late? I don’t want to wake her up…’

Shelley noticed me, finally, and waddled out into the hall.

‘No, Mom’s an early bird. Early birds eat worms.’

I smiled. I might have been my mother’s favorite, but she and Madeline had a lot in common; they both liked to get up early – too early for my tastes.

‘Well, your mom and I were up pretty late last night. I probably wore her out.’

Softly, I knocked on my sister’s bedroom door, then waited. Ben clung to my legs now, squeezing my thighs like a vice grip, as he rambled on about that game.

Shelley tiptoed up beside me, gave me a knowing look, and tapped the door with her pointer finger. She was right—it wasn’t closed all the way, and when she jabbed it, the door wobbled forward.

‘Madeline, are you still asleep?’ But even from here, I could see that she wasn’t.

The bed was perfectly made, the corners tucked in tightly, military-style the way she liked them. I pushed the door all the way open. My sister wasn’t in her room.

‘Madi?’ I called out again. I’d almost forgotten, there was a master bathroom attached. I jiggled Ben off my legs and walked toward the bathroom.

But one glance inside the open door revealed she wasn’t in there either. The bathroom was pristine, clean white counters with bottles of perfume perfectly aligned.

It almost looked like she never slept in the bed or used the bathroom at all.

‘Maybe she got up early and went to the grocery store.’ I shrugged. A quick glance out the front curtains revealed I was right – the tan Jeep was gone, only the rented Civic remained in the driveway.

‘While we wait for her to get back, why don’t I make you guys a late breakfast?’ The idea of me cooking was ridiculous, but I felt like I had to do something. If I couldn’t help Madi out financially, I could at least pitch in for a little while, with housekeeping and cooking chores.

I opened the fridge and peered inside. There was plenty of food, and I thought it was unlikely that Madeline had gone out to get groceries after all.

‘How do you guys like your eggs?’ They were standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking up at me like eager puppies.

‘We don’t do eggs,’ Shelley said.

‘Ew,’ Ben concurred.

‘Okay, well, then what do you guys want to eat?’ I asked, exasperated.

‘Mac and cheese?’ Shelley suggested, with a hopeful smile.

Mac and cheese actually sounded good to me, too, and it’s one of the few things I knew how to make. In fact, pasta from a box was about all I ate myself anymore.

It took me a minute to find the macaroni, pot, and spoon. And then another few minutes to figure out how to light Madeline’s gas stove.

While I boiled the water and softened the noodles, Ben told me more about his favorite game. Shelley was intent on helping me. At first, I was worried about letting her stir, afraid she would get burned, but she seemed to know what she was doing, and she was eager to mix in the cheese and milk when it was done.

‘I’m going to be a chef,’ she told me, but it sounded more like ‘seff’ when she said it with her tiny baby voice.

I watched the children eat, my own appetite gone. Moving to the kitchen window, I looked out at the backyard from my childhood. Water shimmered on the trees in the forest, and from here, they seemed to be covered in tiny wet diamonds. But other than that, there were no traces of the storm I’d heard when I first woke up.

I wondered where Madeline had gone, and why she didn’t tell me first. What if the kids had gotten hurt and I hadn’t heard them? Would she leave me alone with the kids all the time now that I was staying here? I didn’t mind helping out, but I was definitely not equipped to be a babysitter. I didn’t have the experience, or the patience…

After lunch, Ben showed me his game and insisted I play it, too. Shelley watched and cheered us on, lining up Barbies as spectators. Finally, Ben was ready for a break, so he and Shelley played with their toys and chalkboard in the living room, while I checked the windows often, waiting for Madeline to get back.

When Shelley stood up from playing, I noticed a dark, circular stain on her pajama pants. She saw me looking, and said, ‘I peed my pants.’ Her lip trembled, and my heart lurched.

While Ben shouted for Shelley to come back and play, I scooped my hands under her armpits and carried her to the bathroom, careful to keep her urine-laden clothes from touching mine. My biceps burned as I lowered her onto the bathroom floor. Struggling, I peeled the wet bottoms off as I tried to coax Ben. ‘She’ll be right back!’ I huffed.

By the time I’d located clean shorts for Shelley and got her changed, it was nearly five o’clock.

I was starting to get annoyed. It wasn’t that I minded spending time with my niece and nephew, but I was still wondering why Madeline hadn’t at least bothered telling me she had somewhere to go. Shelley seemed fine without her mother here, but Ben was getting more and more restless, causing my own panic level to rise.

‘Where is my mommy?’ he asked, for nearly the tenth time. Like me, he paced in front of the living room window, looking out often.

‘Out shopping, I guess. I don’t know,’ I mumbled, wringing my hands.

I texted her again, and when she still didn’t answer, I called. Her phone rang and rang, finally reaching her voicemail. I left another shaky, awkward message, trying to hide my indignation. It was the fourth or fifth message I’d left so far, and I was starting to feel resentful that she hadn’t, in the very least, called back to tell me where she was or what she was doing…

‘What’s for dinner?’ Shelley squeaked. Tiredly, I rubbed the back of my neck. Do these kids ever stop eating or playing? An image popped up of one of those battery commercials … they keep going and going…

I wanted to take a shower and relax in my room, but the kids kept me moving. My own stomach was rumbling now, too, and I wondered briefly if there was a pizza place that delivered nearby. But I already knew the answer to that. There was nothing much around here. The closest pizzeria was twenty miles south of Bare Border. You want pizza around here, you either drive to get it or you settle for the waxy crap they sell at the store.

My mouth watered as I thought of the Chinese carryout store near my apartment. Takeout sounds so good right now … the peaceful silence of my apartment sounds good, too.

My phone rung and I jumped up from the couch, eager to talk to Madi. I was disappointed when I saw that the caller wasn’t her.

I recognized the number – it was my landlord, Jin. He knew I’d lost my job, and he was probably calling to see if I’d made arrangements to move out yet. I wasn’t sure if that’s what I wanted to do, but without a job, I wouldn’t have much choice. I silenced the call. Shelley and Ben were still staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

‘Not your mom. But I’m sure she’ll be here soon.’ They didn’t look convinced, my own voice shaky, unsure.

I tried one more time to call her, reaching her voicemail again. Damn you, Madi. Where did you go?

‘Alright,’ I said, sighing, ‘So, what do you guys want for dinner? Chicken noodle soup, hotdogs…?’

‘It’s time to go to the woods!’ Ben leapt up from the floor where he’d been playing and ran for the door. Shoes were piled on top of each other next to the front door and Ben struggled into a cute pair of green Chucks.

‘Ben, let’s wait on that. We need to eat, and your mom will be home soon…’

‘Mom always lets us go play in the woods before dinner. Ben will get mad if we don’t go. He likes to do things at the same time every day,’ Shelley warned.

‘She lets you go by yourself?’ I asked, bewildered.

‘No. I won’t go by myself,’ Ben answered, his eyes widening in fear. He paced back and forth in the front of the door, like a puppy waiting to be let out.

My stomach turned as I thought about going down to those woods. I took a deep breath in through my mouth and blew it out my nose, like a mad bull preparing for battle. I can’t do it.

Just the thought of going into those woods was enough to trigger a panic attack. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if I actually took them down there…

Ben rocked back and forth, the shrill screech of that squeal ripping through my head in waves. Where are you Madi? I can’t deal with these kids right now!

‘Okay. Shelley, do you know how to put on your shoes? Let me get mine on, too. But only for a few minutes, guys – you all need to eat dinner, and I’m getting hungry, too…’ It was like someone else was saying the words, some puppet master pulling my strings. Could I really face those woods again, after what happened down there?

But therein lies the problem – what did happen down there? I’d played in those woods all my life and then one day something had gone seriously wrong. The details leading up to that day were not only sketchy, they didn’t exist at all. Flashes come and go sometimes, but I haven’t thought about it for a while. I could remember going down there to play after school. I could remember the pain and the red, red, red, and the hospital room after … but other than that, my accident was a gray, smudgy speck on the part of my brain that controlled my memories.

‘I want to go now! It’s after five! We should be down there already.’ Ben was tugging at the door handle now, impervious to the fact that it was locked.

‘I can’t get it open. Open up, door!’ He smacked the door with an open, frustrated palm.

‘Ben, chill out! I’m getting my shoes on.’ What the hell does my sister do when he acts like this? And where is she, anyway?

My sandals were lined up next to the random shoe pile, my sister’s blue Nikes sitting next to mine. She was wearing those yesterday when I arrived. Did she wear a different pair of shoes to the store?

I decided then that there was no store in this scenario – the chances of her grocery shopping for five hours were pretty slim. She must have put on different shoes, but where the heck had she gone? She hadn’t said anything about having to work today, and surely, the kids went to daycare while she worked…

I considered the possibility that maybe my sister had gone to speak to John. That was probably it. She probably used the opportunity of having me here, to go and try to rekindle things with him.

Ben reached for my right hand and yanked on it. Shelley pulled on the other. As I thought about going down to those woods, my face felt hot and tingly.

I stared at my sister’s sneakers. This strange thought was taking shape, that if I wore her shoes, the answers to all my questions would seep into my skin, like where she went and what this mysterious thing was she needed to talk to me about…

I did, in fact, put her sneakers on. My sandals wouldn’t hold up well in the woods, anyway.

‘Alright, let’s go … oh, hold on. Wait, guys.’ I rushed back into the kitchen and pulled out a pad of paper and pen from the junk drawer. With shaky hands, I scrawled a short, sloppy note on the paper: Took the kids to the woods. BRB.

We went out the front door, Shelley leading the way and Ben marching behind her. Together, we circled around the inn, and both children made a beeline for the woods.

There was a narrow path at the center of the forest, the same path I’d followed as a kid…

I stopped walking, the world around me tilting left, then right, and then forward and back. I tried to steady myself, breathing in through my nose.

From here, the path appeared to be moving like a twisted snake. The mouth of the woods the snake’s gaping, waiting mouth … waiting to devour me whole.

‘I can’t.’ I choked the words out, bending at the waist and closing my eyes to stop the dizzy spell. Ben and Shelley were running straight for the snake’s mouth, much to my dismay.

‘Stop! Stop now!’ I screamed. At my wild cry, they both halted immediately.

‘Back in the house. Back in now! Please,’ I whispered, motioning them to come back toward me. Reluctantly, they shuffled back.

‘Let’s go inside. It’s going to rain,’ I rested my hand on their backs, practically pushing them back toward the inn.

‘No, it’s not! Look at the sun!’ Ben shouted. ‘I want to go now.’ The words came out strangled through his clenched teeth.

‘Now,’ he repeated, stomping his foot as he turned back toward the woods. Shelley hunkered down, looking as though she might cry.

‘It’s okay. We can come back later. We’ll play pretend inside,’ Shelley tried to coax her brother. Ben rocked back and forth, finally dropping down to the ground.

‘But Mommy takes me every day,’ he moaned, anxiously rubbing his own cheeks until they looked red and splotchy.

‘I’ll bring you later, I promise. I just … not right now, okay? I want to go inside and wait for your mom.’

‘I’m staying here,’ Ben huffed. He crossed his arms over his chest.

What am I going to do with this kid? My eyes travelled back to the woods. The path looked normal now, just a dirt-trodden trail I’d followed a million times as a kid, but as I considered going, the path turned wavy again.

I need to get inside now. As I bent down to pick up Ben, I forgot about that whole ‘lift with your knees’ bit. Lifting him from the ground, I let out a painful groan. To make matters worse, he started to kick and twist in my arms.

‘No! I’m staying out here!’ He threw his head back, nearly slamming against my teeth as I whipped my own head back to get out of his way. I trudged back up the hill, Shelley in my shadow and Ben flopping doggedly in my arms.

Back inside, I released him from my arms, panting. Worried he might try to run back out, I collapsed on the living room carpet beside him. Shelley sat down too, giving herself distance from Ben.

‘I’m sorry if I disappointed you. I know your mommy and you have a routine. But, when I was a kid, I fell down and hurt my head in those woods. Now, every time I think about going down there, I get really sick and nervous. Do you know what it feels like to be nervous, Ben?’

Ben looked exhausted now, curling up in a ball on the floor. The tantrum had sucked the life right out of both of us. I need Madi here to help me, I thought, dejectedly.

‘I get nervous a lot,’ Ben whispered. He surprised me by scooting close to me, and the next thing I knew, he was curled up on my lap.

***

We ate dinner at the table. Noodles again. My sister didn’t come home, and she didn’t call back either.

Ben loved the noodles, although by the time he was finished, there was more pasta covering his lap and chair, than he could have possibly consumed. Shelley, on the other hand, was nice and neat, wiping her mouth more than necessary, and tucking her napkin onto her lap like a fancy lady. They couldn’t be any more different from each other, but they were hooked at the hip, despite their age difference.

Ben seemed fine now, the temper tantrum temporarily forgotten. What will happen tomorrow when he wants to go again? I wondered. But then I thought, Madeline will be back by then. I’ll let her take him.

After dinner, I gave them both a bath. They insisted on taking one together, assuring me that it was okay, and they always did that. It felt strange, being around children like this, and being the one in charge. I couldn’t help feeling as though I was one of them, just playing the part of grown-up in our own made-up play.

Ben and Shelley didn’t wash much; they splashed around, squirting each other with green and pink rubber duckies, until the other screamed and got mad. By the time they were through, the tile floor in the bathroom was covered with a thin coat of water. I sighed, drying up the floor before lifting their bodies, like slippery noodles, out of the tub. Madi and I used to be the same way, fighting constantly but loving every minute of it. My heart ached as I thought about my sister – where in the hell was she?

My anger and frustration were becoming something else – concern. Why would Madi leave without telling me? Did she go talk to John, did they get into a fight?

Again, I realized that I barely knew him. Hell, I barely know her anymore. We’d been close when we were kids, but whatever sort of bond we’d once had had come untethered over the years. When your relationship consists mostly of monthly texts and Facebook updates, it loses its fortitude.

I tucked the kids into bed around ten o’clock. Shelley wanted to watch Elmo on her Tinkerbell TV set, but Ben insisted on me reading to him. I turned the DVD on for Shelley, and then I chose a book from one of the bookshelves in the family room for Ben. It was a tattered, old book called Where’s Goldie? The fading sticker on the front said it cost only sixty-nine cents. Sure enough, when I opened the cover, I found my own name inside, scrawled in sloppy cursive.

Peering at the shelves, I realized most of the books were either mine or Mom’s. I used to be territorial with my books. Well, I still was, actually, but back then, I used to scribble my name on everything. I took the book back to Ben’s room, relieved to see that Shelley was already asleep as I passed by. The tune to Elmo’s World rang out through the speakers.

Ben was pleased with my book choice and bragged that he always knew where to find Goldie, the naughty little yellow bird that hid from her perpetually perplexed owner, Maggie.

I had to do three full read-throughs before he even closed his eyes. I lay beside him for nearly a half hour, listening to the sounds of his soft breathing, like the purr of a happy cat. That tantrum today had sucked the life out of me, but Ben seemed perfectly fine now.

I listened for sounds outside, hoping I’d hear the Jeep pulling up in the driveway. My stomach churned as I realized I was alone again. With the kids asleep and Madi gone, I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. Something was wrong, I could feel it.

I might not know my sister as well as I once did, but she still wouldn’t leave me, of all people, in charge of her kids without saying something first.

Finally, I pushed myself out of bed, careful not to wake up Ben. I crept down the hallway, and walked through the house, turning off excess lights. Back in the living room, I flipped on the porch light for Madeline. All those late nights I’d waited up for her, so eager to hear stories about her night – parties with alcohol and boys who knew how to kiss … it wasn’t until later, in our twenties, that she confessed her stories weren’t true. Some of them, yes. But mostly, they were embellished. She wanted to impress me, but more than anything, she wanted the stories to be true. As a teenager, Madi could be a liar and a fantasist sometimes. Was that what was going on now? Would she show up at the door, like she did all those years ago, with some wild story to explain her absence today?

Sitting down in her office chair, I spun around in circles, feeling childish. I held my phone in my lap, staring down at the blank screen. My landlord had left a voicemail earlier, but I didn’t feel like hearing his wheezy voice right now.

I thought about calling my sister again, but then I thought better of it. I was acting like one of those babysitters that call every twenty minutes and ruin the parents’ night out.

But I’m not the babysitter. She didn’t even ask me to watch them. For the first time all day, I wondered if I should be seriously worried. If I should perhaps phone the police.

I considered the possibility that something really was wrong, some sort of desperate emergency. But I knew it wasn’t family related – Mom and Dad were both dead, the few aunts and cousins we had lived thousands of miles away, and we barely spoke to them anyway.

It must be something to do with John, I decided. But what if she got into an accident or got hurt somehow…?

Slowly, I strolled up and down the hallway, looking at our family photographs. Last night, it’d been too dark to see them all, but now the hall was lit, old photographs of my mother and father illuminated on its walls. There were so many pictures of the four of us – Mom, Dad, Madeline, and I. There were a couple of our grandparents, too, and toward the end of the stretch were pictures of my sister and John, and baby pictures of Shelley and Ben.

In their wedding photo, John and Madeline stood behind a giant white cake, John holding a silver knife as he prepared to make the ceremonial cut. A crazy thought flashed through my head – what if John had taken my sister? What if he’d hurt her?

‘I’ve really freaking lost it now,’ I muttered. I’d been watching too many of those true crime mystery shows on the Discovery channel. I was up late every night, and there wasn’t much else on besides those types of shows and info commercials.

I pulled my eyes away from the happy couple and headed for my own room to change my clothes. I passed Dad’s office on the way. Last night, I hadn’t paid it much attention, but now it sat stark and empty, even his old desk was gone. Instead the room seemed to be used for storage; boxes of books and paint supplies were stacked in one corner of the room and several see-through plastic tubs of old clothes.

I sniffed the air, half-expecting to smell my father’s aftershave and pungent cigar smoke floating in the room. He’s gone. Every last trace of him is gone. And I didn’t even go to the funeral to say goodbye…

Guilt festered inside me, but, like always, I pushed myself to move forward, to forget what I had or hadn’t done.

In the guest room, I gathered a change of clothes and then went back down the hallway to the bathroom. I was worried about being able to hear the kids if they woke up and needed something, so I left the door open a crack as I showered.

After scrubbing the dirt and sweat from my face and hair, I went back out to the living room, giving the driveway one last, wistful look, hoping my sister would return. It was nearly midnight by now. This was getting ridiculous.

Torn between irritation and concern, I fought the urge to text or call again. Finally, I made my way to her bedroom. It seemed wrong to sleep in her room, but the Mello Yellow room was too far from the kids. I didn’t trust myself to wake up if one of them cried out in the night or got sick. What would I even do if they got sick or hurt? I wondered.

As happy as I was to meet my niece and nephew, I didn’t know much about kids. And I definitely didn’t feel comfortable being in charge of them for this long.

My sister’s room was still pristine, and it smelled like some sort of cleanser – bleach, maybe? Turning on the fan to battle the fumes, I folded down her strawberry quilt, and climbed beneath the sheets. The bed was cold, like lying in an ice cube tray. Tucking the covers up to my chin, I flipped onto my left side like I always do. From this angle, I had a straight-on view of my sister’s closet. It was pulled most of the way shut, but there was a small gap in the white pocket doors. I could see a box labeled ‘Pictures’ sitting on the closet floor.

I flipped to my right side, staring at my sister’s billowy red curtains instead. Then it hit me – the balcony my parents used to go out on to smoke was off the master bedroom. Sliding the covers down, I emerged from the bed and pushed the curtains apart. Sure enough, the white door to the balcony was still there.

It wasn’t really a balcony since it was on the ground floor, but that’s what we always called it. My parents used to sneak out there and smoke cigarettes as though Madeline and I didn’t know what they were doing. The house would reek of it every night after we went to bed, but I never really minded. I always liked to imagine them out there kissing, like secret, star-crossed lovers, and the smoky fumes were almost a reminder, that my parents were truly in love.

But that wasn’t the case, was it? Their love was as fake as these loose-fitting curtains covering the door. It wasn’t real, none of it was.

The bolt on the door was stiff, as though Madeline hadn’t used the balcony in years. I gripped the metal latch and pulled on it until my hands burned. Finally, it snapped over, pinching the tender spot between my thumb and pointer finger.

The gold knob twisted easily, and I pushed the double doors out, the cool night air hitting me with such force that my nightgown blew up above my waist. It was black as a raven out here, but I stepped out onto the balcony anyway, breathing in the cool lilac summer air. The balcony wasn’t very wide, just enough to stand at the wrought iron railing and catch a breath of air, or lean over it, puffing on a cigarette with your spouse…

A streak of moonlight constellated edges of the tree line, the path I’d feared earlier coming into focus. A sudden chill trickled up my spine as I remembered my flashback near the ominous entrance of the woods. Why couldn’t I remember that day?

Bits and pieces came back, every so often, but most of my memories from that summer day were of the crisp white hospital room where machines whistled and whirred, a small team of doctors bandaging up my head. They didn’t let me go to sleep, I had to fight through the concussion as they stitched my head back together.

My eyes sought truth in the darkness. ‘Why was it so traumatic? It’s not like I hadn’t got hurt while playing before.’ The words were whispered, a plea to the forest gods: tell me why.

My eyes scanned the tree line, for animals or man. A strange smell filled my nostrils – like something charring over an open fire.

My neck prickled as I tried to shake away the sudden sensation that someone was watching me from out there. Waiting. Watching.

All these years, I’d assumed it was just a freak accident – that I’d tripped and hit my head so hard that I couldn’t remember the fall. But if that was truly the case, then why was I so scared to go back? It was just an accident, an incident that could have happened to any kid … kids get hurt all the time. But there was something so scary about the not knowing, the fear of memories lost … what happened in those moments leading up to the fall? Why did those memories never come back? I wondered.

I’m going to have to face those woods and face my fears sooner or later, I decided.

Childishly, I rushed back in, slamming the heavy door behind me. I whipped the curtains closed, covering the door completely.

What I needed to do was get some sleep, but I felt wide awake. Plus, part of me felt like I needed to stay up. I needed to wait for Madi to come home.

My gaze wandered back over to the closet doors. Trembling, I slid the pocket doors apart. Then I slid the cardboard box labelled ‘Pictures’ out onto the carpet next to the bed. There were stacks and stacks of photo albums, some plain and generic, others flowery and neat. I lifted the first album from the top and gently, I flipped through its pages.

These were more photos of my sister and John. I could tell the difference immediately, the before and after children photos. Before, there were pictures of John and Madeline, smiling over plates of fancy food, low-lit smiles in the corner of some bar. There were pictures of them at a rock concert, Madeline flashing a peace sign at the cameraman, who I presumed was John. He, too, looked young and silly in his pictures, sticking his tongue out at my sister.

The after-children photos looked happy, too, but they were of zoo trips and family portraits –a more subdued life. I wondered what happened between them. Why did it all fall apart?

You need to come in here. I can’t deal with these fucking kids. John’s words in the background came floating back to me. Was that what he really said, or was my mind just filling in the blanks?

He seemed normal at the wedding, but what did I really know about him? Maybe having kids changed him … maybe he couldn’t handle Ben with his schedules and quirks? Whatever led to the affair wasn’t any of my business, but I sincerely hoped my sister hadn’t gone after him, trying to get him to come back home. The thought of her doing that, of seeming so desperate, made my stomach curl. But where else could she be? I remembered that worried mask she wore last night … something heavy was on her mind. Was it just about John, or something else?

I sat that album aside and reached for the next. Instantly, I recognized myself in one of the photos. It was my first-grade class photo, and next to it was Madeline’s fourth-grade photo. We almost looked alike at that age.

I kept flipping, past photos of Madeline in cheerleading and me in band, and both of us in our prom dresses. Madeline was asked to the prom by several boys, but she coyly told them all no. I’d almost forgotten until now how tied to the hip Madi was with her two best friends in high school. Right on cue, the next photo was of Madi, her arms looped around Jessica Feeler and Rhonda Sheckles. Oh, how I loathed those girls…

The three of them couldn’t have been any more different from each other, Jessica with her bone-straight blonde hair, Rhonda with swirly red curls and freckles, and Madi in the middle, with her blondish brown hair cut in a jagged bob. But, in this particular picture, Madeline’s hair was dyed platinum blonde. I remembered her begging Mom to buy the dye, to let her change her hair. Rhonda and Jessica stayed over that night, helping her apply the malodorous color to her hair.

At that point, Madeline had moved upstairs to the bonus rooms, to get away from the rest of us. I could remember creeping up those steps, slithering on my belly, as I tried to catch a glimpse of what she and the older girls were up to…

I held the album up, studying the contours of my sister’s face. She was pretty then, and still so pretty now. A little triangle of film poked out from behind the picture of the girls. Gripping it between my nails, I slid another photo out from behind theirs.

I gasped, staring down at the small school photo in my hand. It was a picture of a girl named Sarah Goins. She was probably in fourth grade in this picture. She and I were in the same class, but we may as well have been from different planets.

While most kids spent their free time playing on the swings or chasing each other in a game of tag, Sarah spent her time in the dirt. She liked to make up stories and talk to herself, sometimes even pouring bits of loose gravel and dirt over her own head. Her hair was greasy and limp, her lips and eyes the color of dust balls and slate. I stared at the picture, mesmerized by the girl looking back at me. She was less of a girl, and more like a ghost.

Sarah Goins looked haunted, but wasn’t that what they always said about pictures of dead girls?

Sarah had disappeared in sixth grade. Everyone suspected that she either drowned in Moon Lake by accident or went crazy and ran off. She wasn’t a happy child. Maybe she did run away, but, deep down, I knew she had to be dead. Why else wouldn’t she have come back home?

But, then, I thought about myself … I hadn’t been back home either. Until now.

I didn’t really know Sarah well, none of us did. But a memory was rising – didn’t she give me this picture? I remembered now … Sarah, in her dirt-stained overalls, racing around the playground, a toothy smile on her face. She was handing out these photos of herself; she wanted to trade pictures with the other kids. She came from a poor family; her father dead and her mom left to run the farm on her own. ‘Mom bought my school pictures this year. Here, I want you to have one!’ She looked so happy as she thrust one of the photos into my hand. I told her thank you, and feeling self-conscious, tucked it quickly away in my jeans pocket. Next Sarah approached a group of girls by the jungle gym. ‘Here, please take one,’ she told a girl I didn’t recognize. Sneering, the girl accepted the photo and then promptly, ripped it to pieces. In a flash, she had yanked the rest of the stack from Sarah’s hands. One by one, she shredded the pictures to pieces and then, in a final dramatic gesture, she threw them up in the air. Tiny white flakes of photo paper caught in the air and floated around the playground like a miniature snowstorm.

‘How could you?!’ Sarah screamed, clawing at her own cheeks. Her face was so red, so angry in that moment … and who could really blame her?

‘She can’t even spell her own last name!’ someone shouted. ‘G-o-i-n! Do you know what that spells, Sarah! Go in! Go in! We don’t want you on this playground!’ And just like that, the other kids were chanting, their fists pumping the air, their giggles high and cruel. ‘Go in!’ they sang in chorus.

I squeezed my eyes shut at the memory, trying to keep the tears at bay. Finally, I opened my eyes and slammed the album closed, but not before stuffing Sarah’s picture back inside.

I climbed back into my sister’s bed and pulled the covers up over my head. I tried to force myself to sleep, but those chants wouldn’t go away. Like a broken record, or a song stuck in my head, the voices called out, ‘Go in! Go in!’

And one of those voices was mine.

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